A School Fun Fair Survival Story
The Great Nachos Disaster: A School Fun Fair Survival Story
In our school, classes 8 and 9 had the “honour” of organizing stalls for the annual Fun Fair. Teachers called it buisness experience. Personally, I think it was an experiment to see how much stress teenagers can survive before turning into full-time villains.
And the funniest part?
This business idea actually started when I was in 5th grade.
Back then, I used to look at the older students running stalls at the school fun fair and think: “Wow. One day I’ll also grow up and have my own stall with my friends 😌✨”
Tiny me was full of dreams. Zero financial awareness. Maximum confidence.
And I had already planned my future business idea.
Not normal food.
No no.
✨apple ice cream coffee✨
Delusional pro Max
Which meant: Take an apple. Cut off its head. Remove the pulp. Pour coffee inside. Then put ice cream on top.
Basically I had invented a dessert using:
- confusion
- diabetes
- and financial self-destruction
I proudly explained this idea to my mom thinking I was the next billionaire innovator.
And my mother, after hearing this absolutely devastating business proposal, simply said:
“This idea is financially draining for you and your future group members.”
At that age I didn’t understand.
I thought: Adults just don’t understand creativity 😔
But then 8th grade happened.
And suddenly I realized…
My mother was absolutely correct.
Because imagine trying to sell: coffee inside apples with ice cream on top
(Best way to go bankrupt)
to school students who were already negotiating ₹20 nachos like stock market brokers.
One child would’ve asked: “₹10 me half apple milega?”
Honestly, my mother saved an entire future group project from bankruptcy.
So 8th grade came and my group decided to sell nachos because the school had banned fire cooking. Apparently the administration believed one gas stove in teenage hands would immediately lead to national tragedy.
We made budgets. Divided responsibilities. Calculated profits like Shark Tank contestants who still needed permission to drink water during class.
My responsibility was white sauce.
Which is a very professional way of saying: my mom made the white sauce.
And then came the school’s greatest decision.
Everyone was told: “Don’t bring tiffin. Eat from the fair.”
Meaning the entire school population was now depending on food made by groups of unstable 13-year-olds operating from classroom.
Wonderful planning. Absolutely flawless.👏
And to make things even more cinematic… I was sick.
Not normal sick.
I was:
- coughing
- sneezing
- feverish
- dizzy
- mentally buffering every 4 seconds
My friends and mother looked at me and mutually agreed: “Yeah… keep her away from the food.”
Because if I sneezed near the nachos, nobody would be able to identify whether the white substance was sauce or a biological attack.
So I got banned from the kitchen.
Instead I became:
- cashier
- transporter
- marketing department
- customer care
- crowd control
- coupon distributor
- recovery agent
- unpaid intern
- emotional support staff
Looking at me, nobody could tell I was sick.
Because somewhere between stress and capitalism, survival transformed into aggressive entrepreneurship.
We had invested money.
And in my brain: investment recovered = failure investment + profit = respect
So fever or not… sales mode activated.
The big day arrived.
I came with:
- one tray
- one abstract-art-style “NACHOS” banner
- legendary white sauce
- and dangerous levels of confidence
Then customers arrived.
First wave: 5th graders.
And let me tell you something.
Handling younger class children is harder than handling international diplomacy.
At least world leaders eventually listen. 5th graders do not.
They scream. They push. They ask the same question 19 times. They touch food without buying. They wave coupons in your face like legal documents.
Questions started immediately:
“Didi kitne ka hai?” Every stall was ₹20.
Still: “₹15 me de do.” “Discount?” “Half plate?” “Sweet nahi hai?” “Healthy hai?” “Refund milega agar pasand nahi aaya?”
Refund.☠️
At a school fair.
For ₹20 nachos.
Sir / Ma'am this is not Amazon Prime.
One child stared suspiciously at the tray and whispered: “Is this cheese real?”
No beta. The cheese is imaginary. We created it in the school's laboratory.
Another one: “Waha wale stall pe quantity zyada mil rahi hai.”
Wonderful. At age ten they had already mastered market comparison and customer dissatisfaction.
And through all this, I was controlling my anger like a spiritual monk.
Because I’m a short-tempered person. And those kids were personally challenging my patience level and were getting on my nerves.
Honestly, at one point I was one inconvenience away from turning the stall into a WWE arena.
But instead of saying: “STOP SCREAMING 😡”
I had to professionally smile and say: “Please maintain discipline 😊”
Oscar-worthy acting.🏆
Then my marketing instincts activated.
And dear God.
I started screaming like a vegetable vendor fighting inflation:
“NACHOS LE LOOO!
WHITE SAUCE SPECIAL!
₹20 ONLY!
AAJ NAHI LIYA TOH LIFE ME REGRET KAROGE!”
At some point the crowd became so chaotic that our marketing strategy completely lost touch with reality.
Normal stalls invited customers politely.
Us?
We started customer hunting.
Me and another teammate started pulling small kids toward our stall:
“Idhar aao 😭”
“Nachos lelo 😭”
“Friends ko bhi bulao 😭”
At one point I was literally scooping children out of the crowd and dragging them into the Nachos Economy because my feverish brain had decided this was normal business behavior..
Marketing skills 📈
Now carrying trays from the classroom kitchen to the stall through crowds was basically an Olympic survival event.
Students everywhere. Children running randomly. Teachers walking slowly. Someone crying. Someone screaming. Someone holding balloons directly into my face.
So I developed a transportation system.
I screamed:
“SIDEEEE!
(Self respect minus 10😅)
And surprisingly… people moved.
Then came kitchen panic mode.
I’d run into the classroom screaming:
“AREY JALDI BANAO YAAR 😭
WAHA 10 COUPON BECH DIYE HAIN
LOG MUJHE KHA JAYENGE 😭”
Meanwhile outside… food didn’t exist yet.
So naturally we started distracting customers.
“Aaj ka din kitna acha hai na 😄” “Kya hero lag rahe ho 😌” “Nice haircut 😌”
We knew the food wasn’t ready.
Customers knew the food wasn’t ready.
Nearby stalls knew the food wasn’t ready and they could take away our customer.
Then the queue evolved.
It started as a line. Then became a semicircle. Then became crowd psychology.
Small kids started fighting.
“MERA PEHLE THA!” “NAHI MERA!”
At this point I stopped feeling like a cashier and started feeling like:
- WWE referee
- security guard
- therapist
- hostage negotiator
All for ₹20 nachos.
And because fever had now fully entered my bloodstream, my patience started collapsing.
I started threatening children.
“Chup chap line me khade raho 😡”
“Ulta latka dungi ped se 😡”
“Yahan se nahi liya toh gayab kar dungi tujhe 😡”
Was I joking? Technically yes.😂
Did they believe me? Immediately yes.😌
Did sales improve? Suspiciously yes.🤣
Fear-based marketing 📈
But this only worked on younger kids.
Higher graders simply stood there silently judging us like disappointed food critics reviewing a failing restaurant.🫥
Meanwhile the boys handling game stalls arrived... partially abandoning their stalls just to create a mess here 🥲
Those people were charging ₹2 per game and behaving like billionaires.
Caps on. Waist bags full of coins. Confidence level illegal.
They came to our stall: “Friends discount?”
Then they entered our classroom aka setup kitchen and STOLE supplies for “quality testing.”
One proudly opened his waist bag and announced:
“Tum log ₹20 ki plate bech ke bhi itna nahi kama paaye jitna hum ₹2 ki games se kama liye.”
True at a point.
Corporate humiliation.
After finally getting a few seconds of freedom from my own collapsing nacho empire, I went to see their game stalls.
Big mistake.😑
Because what I witnessed there was proof that teenage boys can create games with absolutely zero logic and still run successful businesses.
One stall had: “Guess the Rap Song.”
Another had a bowling setup made from random bottles that looked one strong sneeze away from collapsing.
And the rest?
Pure imagination.
Not proper games. Not understandable games. Just random thoughts converted into business models.
And somehow people were PLAYING THEM.🙃
I asked: “Okay but what’s the prize?”
And every answer emotionally damaged me.
“Ball.”
“2 rupees pen.”
“One chocolate.”
“Shuttlecock.”
ONE chocolate.🫡
Not even premium chocolate. The type of chocolate that disappears in two bites and leaves emotional emptiness behind.
And these boys proudly explained: “Games are only ₹2 😌 so customers get nice gifts.”
Nice gifts???
Sir.
You are giving away a pen worth ₹2 after emotionally exhausting children through impossible games.
Meanwhile my stall was handling:
- negotiations
- Trying not to snap
- crowd control
- inflation
- theft
- customer rage
- near-death fever
And these people were becoming successful businessmen using:
- one plastic ball
- one bottle
- and confidence.
And then… the criminals arrived.
Students who took food and ran away without paying.
So who got sent behind them?
Me.
Because apparently I was:
- fastest runner
- tomboy
- financially motivated
- emotionally unstable enough to chase customers publicly
Imagine having fever and sprinting across school screaming:
“PAISE DEKE JAAOOOO!”
Peak businesswoman moment.💅
Meanwhile:
- someone wanted PayTM
- someone needed change for ₹500
- someone dropped nachos
- someone cried
- someone asked if we sell pani puri
- one fellow mate forgot orders
- The other fellow mate had disappeared
- one fellow mate was eating the stock
Teamwork ❤️
And then my own brother arrived.
Looked at the nachos.
Pretended to vomit dramatically.
And announced: “Chi! Kitna ganda nachos hai! Koi mat lo!”
Then came back asking me for money because his own had finished.
Family support is beautiful.
I had not eaten all day. Not even from my own stall😭
I was running around like an underpaid delivery app employee during festival season.
Voice gone. Energy gone. Humanity gone.
But profit mindset still alive.
Finally 10th graders arrived.
By then every stall had run out of food.
But they were so hungry they bought…
cups of plain white sauce.
Just sauce.
Human civilization had collapsed.
Finally the fair ended.
I collapsed on a chair like a soldier returning from war.
Could we go home?
No.
Count money.
We counted notes and coins like emotionally damaged accountants.
Final earning: ₹9,000.
The moment counting ended, I stood up and left immediately.
No goodbye. No celebration.
Soul left body. Business closed. Fun Fair survived.
And that day I learned:
Never underestimate
a feverish girl
with anger issues,
capitalist mindset,
and financial goals. 💀
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